


Knight and Rook

by Prozzy



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 13:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17829806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prozzy/pseuds/Prozzy
Summary: Jim/Bruce fic, Jim is just getting over his wife leaving him after he's sent to Gotham where he meets Bruce who's willing to help him start a new life.





	Knight and Rook

His feet hurt. For that he blames the too tight dress shoes he had forced himself to unpack only a few hours ago. Outside of his taxi the city lights are starting to flicker to life, their bright neon beginning to fight for everyone’s attention. The sounds of the city are different than what he’s used to. While the general sounds are there, there’s something missing from the cacophony outside of the car that he can’t quite put a name to. Jim bites back a sigh as he watches the world outside of his window. 

Knees pressed against the back of the taxi’s front seat, he tries not to crease his suit. He only has the one and it’s several years old. Barbara had forced him to buy it when she had wanted to be taken to nicer restaurants and city events. He’d worn it only a few times, mostly because work had gotten far too busy for him to ever really take her anywhere. A fact she had pointed out several times as she had packed his boxes. At the time all he could do was roll his eyes, now he had years worth of bitterness ready to come pouring out. 

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath in. Can’t let himself think about Chicago. He knows exactly what will happen if he does. So instead he tries to turn his thoughts towards what he still has left to unpack. He didn’t bring much, just a few boxes and some furniture he’d been lucky enough to find on sale. His boxes are mostly clothes and books, with a few odds and ends thrown in without much thought. There’s so much he’s missing, so much to try and shove into a tiny apartment. 

He knows it won’t take him long to settle in and find what he was missing. At most a day or two. And then what? He only starts next week. That was still a whole six days away, four if he stretches out the unpacking and hunting for furniture. Originally he and Barbara had planned on sightseeing, take in the city, find a few places that they liked to eat. Discover their new world together and try to start new lives. 

Jim's jaw clenches, and he opens his eyes. Staring out the window, he has to force his thoughts back on track. Bookshelf. Sturdy, preferably able to hold books, unlike the one he'd brought with him. One of the shelves had caved in when he’d put a dozen on it. And he still has to find a decent place to do groceries, though he knows he's more likely to do take out even with food in the kitchen.

He's interrupted only part way through his mental list by the taxi driver's voice. It takes a moment for Jim to understand what the driver's said. Undoing his seatbelt, he leans over enough to pull his wallet from his pocket. His eyebrows rise slightly when he sees the price on the meter, but pulls out the cash without a word. The force has already promised to compensate him until he finds a better means of transportation. 

Stepping out of the taxi, he closes the door before stopping to look at the building he's heading into. Perhaps it’s just him, but the building like everything else in Gotham has a sense of gloom to it. Though he does see familiar parts to the architecture that remind him of home. The building appears to tower over him, and for a long moment he feels incredibly small and lost. 

He shakes his head slightly, trying to push aside the brief moment of panic, gaze lowering as he steps towards the entrance. Of course it’s just his imagination, it’s just a damn building after all. And the only reason it seems so gloomy is because his mood is gloomy. Biting back a sigh at himself, he shoves his hands into his pockets as he walks. He climbs the marble steps carefully, puddles from an earlier storm still lingering in the places the stones have been worn down over the years. 

Getting to the door, he grabs the polished handle and opens the door just enough to slip through. Inside the building is warm and bustling with chatter. A few feet ahead the doorway opens into a large hall. Jim can already see several hundred people from where he’s standing, and he’s sure he’s looking at only a fraction of how many people are present. Trying not to sigh to himself, he makes his way over to the attendants to show them his invitation. The one he speaks with tells him which room the food and drinks are in, and he promptly forgets a moment later. 

Offering him a small smile in response, he thanks the man before pushing further into the hall. Many feet above him, he can see the towers of Gotham and the dimming evening sky. The glass panels of the roof are held in place by impossibly thin bands of metal. The marble floors shine in the warm light of the chandeliers.He hears faint string music, but doesn’t see a band. The hall has several arches leading to other rooms, as well as a staircase leading up to a second floor. He can see parts of a balcony lining the sides of the hall, and he wonders if that’d be a better place to pass the time. 

Sticking to the wall, he slowly begins to make his way through the crowd of people. His gaze lifting to the view of the sky more than once. He sees several people in good suits, and a few in fancy cocktail dresses and immediately feels under dressed. Perhaps Barbara had been right and it was past time to invest in a better suit. Coming to a staircase, he looks up the steps, trying to figure out if he really wants to go up, the faint music he had heard before has gotten louder now that he’s reached the bottom of the stairs. He’s about to begin ascending when he hears a loud burst of laughter. 

Likely too many people.

So instead Jim turns away and continues walking. He listens to the low hum of people talking, letting the white noise fill his ears. There is something reassuring about nobody knowing who he is, and giving him dark looks as he walks by. Granted, that will change in a short period of time he knows it. He gives it a day or two after his first day before people discover he’s a whistle-blower, and in a place like Gotham? It’s likely a death sentence.

Rubbing his face, he wanders into one of the side rooms, curious to see what else is going on. He’s mildly disappointed not to find a bar, but walks aimlessly along the outskirts of the crowd. His gaze jumps from face to face, wondering which of them he will be working with come next Wednesday. After a full circle of the room he has not found the desire to speak to anyone and feels a slight pang of exasperation with himself.

This is exactly what he had known would happen. He should have stayed home and finished with his unpacking instead of wasting his time going out tonight. Slipping back into the main room, he continues with his slow pace along the outside wall. He passes by entrances to several other rooms, not wanting to really stop and bother looking through them. He knows that they will likely be like the last one he went into. At this point he’s just wasting his time and he knows it. 

_I’ll finish doing the lap and then make a dash for the exit._ Hand in his pockets, he plays with the keys to his apartment as he walks. Not like anyone will miss him, and he had showed up so when they ask him on Wednesday at least he can say that he came. As for the bar he hadn’t been able to find he still had a bottle of something at home, and that was good enough for him. Drinking and unpacking? He’d have to fix everything as he came across it later, but at least he’d be entertained while doing it.

He hurries for the entrance, certain that’s a much better plan than staying. He just wants one more look at the view of the ceiling. Head turning, he glances up over his shoulder at it one last time. A quiet sigh leaves him, and he allows himself a moment to linger. Gaze falling back to his front, he turns a corner. There’s not enough time to stop himself from walking into the other man, and instead Jim tries to focus his attention on not stepping on the taller man’s feet. 

The other man’s hand reaches out for him, going to his shoulder, while his own goes for the wall. Thankfully they manage to stay upright. Shaking his head a little at himself, Jim lets his hand fall from the wall and he hurries to straighten himself out. When he finally looks up at the younger man, his eyes narrow for a moment. Ah shit. He’d gone and bumped into someone of wealth, that much is obvious from the way the man’s suit fits his body just right, and if Jim was mistaken it was nicer material than he’d ever seen.

Just his damn luck.

Trying to push aside his uneasiness, he offers the man a small smile. “I’m so sorry,” he hopes his voice doesn’t sound too weak. “Are you alright? My apologies, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” 

The other’s eyes meet his and for a moment Jim thinks the man’s easy smile is about to turn into a snarl of outrage. Noticing the man’s hand rising from the corner of his eye, he takes a half-step backwards. But the man is talking to him, and he can feel himself slowing out of habit.

“No harm no foul.” That has Jim blinking a little, and hesitating a little as to how to proceed. He’d been ready to try and brush the other to the side and make a quick get away, now he actually feels like he needs to stay. He jumps slightly when he realizes the man’s hand is at his tie trying to fix the depressing knot Jim had tied for himself.

The man’s clear blue eyes are searching his face as his fingers work, one eyebrow cocked. “Are you sure?” Jim questions him, managing to find enough of himself to respond to the man. “It felt like I stepped on a foot in all that.”

“I’m not a dancer and don’t need my feet.” The smile has turned slightly teasing. The man must be satisfied with the knot in his tie because now his fingers are attempting to smooth down a few wrinkles in his suit. Jim shakes his head a little, mouth opening to tell the man it’s useless that the wrinkles are permanent at this point, but the words never come. 

Instead he tries not to focus on the man’s face and those damn blue eyes as he straightens his jacket. Cheeks starting to feel a little warm, Jim looks down at the man’s hands which are now starting to pull away from him. Swallowing back a slight wave of disappointment, he gives himself his own look over, giving him the chance to compose himself before looking up at the younger man.

Hand shoving itself into his pocket, he curls his fingers around his house keys. Now that someone’s caught him he’s losing his courage to leave early. He notices the man’s gaze drift down when the keys clink together right before he asks, “Am I in the way?”

Jim’s quick to shake his head, his other hand going for the other pocket to his pack of cigarettes. _Good thing I didn’t quit like she wanted._ “Ah, no, sorry. I was just going to go find a place to have a cigarette.”

From the way the man is looking at him, he has a feeling he isn’t believed. Trying not to notice the rising heat in his ears and cheeks from being watched, Jim pulls out his pack as proof. That, he hopes it’s that and not the blush he’s trying to ignore, makes the man smirk a little to himself. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man tells him. “I can get out of your way if you want, or if you want I was about to get a drink.”

Pausing, the lieutenant takes a deep breath. A drink would feel a hell of a lot better than a cigarette. Besides it isn’t like he has made else to look forward to. A night in of unpacking and moping because his wife left him? A wife who hadn’t loved him in the end. He catches himself starting the same loop he had in the taxi on the way in. Enough is enough. Barbara’s gone. It’s time to start building his life again. 

Jim looks back up at Bruce, and with a smile stuffs his cigarettes back into his pocket. “A drink sounds great. Maybe I can ask a favor and have you point out some people for me while we walk? I know a few names but not any faces.”

He watches the man’s smirk soften into a smile, and it has him relaxing a little. His moment of courage hasn’t blown up in his face. “I’d love to, but only if I get a name in exchange.” 

“Ah shit, sorry, Jim Gordon,” he tells the younger man as he hurries to shake the outstretched hand. The man’s hand is warm and solid, his long fingers curling easily around Jim’s hand. 

The other is chuckling softly as he answers, “Bruce Wayne.”

Has he heard that name before? Yes, he has. In one of the files the captain had given him to read. The only problem is remembering which. He had read them mostly drunk and after a certain point all he really remembers is names. Well he’ll know soon enough.

“Please tell me you know the way to the bar.”


End file.
